


Flowers of Bermuda

by therumjournals



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean
Genre: Age of Sail, M/M, sparrington - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-29
Updated: 2009-09-29
Packaged: 2017-10-17 16:18:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/178659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therumjournals/pseuds/therumjournals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sparrington AU based on the song “Flowers of Bermuda” by Stan Rogers.  Takes place in 1880 on a coal ship, the Nightingale, as told by James.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flowers of Bermuda

He was the captain of the Nightingale, and I loved him from the first moment I saw him. I didn’t know it was love at first, of course. I mistook the feeling for many other things – suspicion, reluctant admiration, respect, lust. Finally, I recognized it for what it was, and not a moment too soon – and almost too late.

I met Captain Jack Sparrow on a chilly afternoon in October, when the collier Nightingale sailed up the Clyde River in Scotland to take on a shipment of coal. I was the harbor master’s assistant, and there was nothing more important in my life than fulfilling my duties - protecting the security of the port and ensuring that all paperwork was properly completed and filed. As part of my security duties, I had made it my business to know how to identify a ruffian when I saw one, and I had never seen a figure more deserving of the label than when I saw Jack step onto that dock.

It brings a flush to my cheeks now, when I think of how I treated Jack at that first meeting. I looked quite smart, I thought, in my navy blue jacket and waistcoat with their gold buttons that I polished every evening. He swaggered towards me in his worn overcoat and high boots, with some kind of gypsy sash around his waist and a tri-corner hat on his head, as if he imagined himself some sort of 17th century pirate. I stopped him in his tracks and demanded that he show me his papers and hand over the docking fee.

“How ‘bout we double the docking fee, and no papers?” he asked with a wink.

“Absolutely not,” I replied. The scoundrel was trying to bribe me, and I was properly aghast.

“Well, it was worth a shot,” he muttered. He reached into an inside pocket of his jacket and handed me a greasy roll of papers, which I took with my fingertips, my lip curled in mild disgust.

I unrolled the papers.

“The Nightingale, collier, built in London, last port, Singapore – Singapore?”

“Ever been, mate?” he asked with a wink.

“I should think not,” I replied, in an aristocratic tone that I had been working to perfect for some time.

“Oh of course not,” he responded, now outwardly mocking me, “Might get a spot on those britches of yours.”

I furrowed my eyebrows in frustration and plowed ahead with my task. “I assume you’ve a coal shipment coming in then?”

“Bright one, this,” Sparrow muttered to no one in particular. “Aye, I’m expecting it in on the next freight, and to answer what will undoubtedly be next on your infernal list of questions, we expect to be fully loaded and away from your stifling port in three days time and on our merry way to Bermuda, where, incidentally, I’m sure you’ve never been.”  
As he spoke, he swayed and leered and waved his hands around somewhat close to my person in a way that was quite disconcerting. Following his breathless little tirade, I steadied myself and carried on.

“It is impossible to receive and load an entire shipment of coal, restock, and be gone in just two days,” I said haughtily.

“Is that right?” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “Maybe you should ask the Harbor Master about that, mate. Last spring, we did it in one.”

My eyes widened. Yes, I had heard that story. So this was the legendary Jack Sparrow. Rumor had it he would blow into town once a year with his coal-blackened crew, spend one or two wild nights amongst the taverns and brothels, fill the pockets of general store owners while buying out their stocks, and load up a train’s worth of coal (and a boxcar’s worth of rum) with the help of 100 men. Where these men came from, why they broke their backs for a day just for one captain, while they were scarce to be found on the docks at any other time, was a mystery. Some said bribery, some said sorcery, and many attributed it to the magnetic appeal of Jack Sparrow alone.

He saw the recognition in my face and smiled proudly. “So you have heard of me?”

“Jack Sparrow.” I meant it to come out sounding disdainful, but I fear I may have missed the mark and sounded quite awestruck instead.

“Captain,” he chided. “Captain Jack Sparrow. Please notice my very large ship,” he added, gesturing.

The Nightingale was a fine ship of her class. Had I not been entirely put off by her captain, I would have had nothing but open admiration for her. As it was, I held my tongue and gave a curt nod of acknowledgement.

“Very well, Captain, it appears your papers are in order and you may proceed. Do keep in mind that if I find you in violation of any of the rules of this port regarding loading hours or unauthorized cargo transfers, I will be forced to levy a fine and report you to the Harbor Master.

He looked dismayed, and I momentarily thought that my words might have affected him. Well, they had, but not quite in the way that I had hoped.

“Mate, if you put that beautiful baritone of yours to some other use, not to mention relaxing those shoulders a bit, I’d imagine you’d have your pick of the sailors,” he said with a raise of his eyebrows.

I felt a heat rise to my face and hoped that the oncoming dusk would prevent his noticing. And perhaps it did, for he said nothing more, only gave a sloppy bow and swayed past me down the dock in what was certain to be the direction of McCoy’s, the most disreputable tavern in the port. And since it was a port, that was certainly saying something.

* * *

I rarely indulged in drink, of course, and if I did it was certainly never at McCoy’s, so no doubt I had some other reason to be strolling past the tavern later that evening. And, as I was only strolling past, I most certainly did not linger about the entrance, hoping to catch a glimpse of Sparrow amongst the bar’s riotous occupants. And my heart certainly did not start pounding harder in my chest when Sparrow caught sight of me and gestured to me to join him and his crew inside.

The rest of the night was rather a blur. Drinks were continuously placed in front of me – thankfully I discovered that I could indeed hold my liquor, as I downed nearly every one, to the growing respect of the captain. There was much backslapping and table-thumping and tankard clanking – all of which I participated in willingly, thrilled by the feeling of being part of something so…so full of life, I suppose.

It was late – or rather, early I should say, when we left the tavern. Jack and I were the last to leave, both having taken our time getting to our feet. To be quite honest, I was having trouble making it more than two steps without grabbing onto something solid and swaying, as I prayed the room would stop spinning. As we headed out into the street, I reached out for something to grab hold of, ending up with a fistful of Jack’s coat. Thankfully, Jack was no more wobbly than usual, and somehow we managed to make it most of the way to the Nightingale, propping each other up with our shoulders and laughing uproariously. Approaching the Nightingale, Jack gripped me by the lapels and looked at me quite seriously. “Will you be joining me, then?” he asked.

The question made its way slowly through my foggy brain, and when its meaning became clear my eyebrows went up in shock. Not knowing how to respond, I resorted to my default. “Certainly not,” I said firmly. “I will do no such thing.” I stepped back, managing to hold myself up this time. “I most certainly will not.” I was repeating myself. I decided to stop talking.

“Fine,” he scoffed. “Be a gentleman then…whass your name, anyway?”

“James Norrington,” I told him.

“Well, Gentleman James Norrington, you will always remember this as the night that you almost…caught…Captain Jack Sparrow.” He turned with a flourish and was nimbly aboard his ship in no time.

Feeling a strange combination of proud and foolish, I made my way back down the dock to find my bed.

* * *

If Jack Sparrow was suffering the same effects as I was from the previous night’s excesses, I mused to myself from the cot in my small garret above the shipping office, then he surely wouldn’t still be planning to accomplish the 2-day turnaround that was his legacy. But as I fought the pain in my head, I became aware of a loud commotion outside. I propped myself up on my elbows, wincing, to peer out the window toward the Nightingale. But the Nightingale was hardly visible behind what must have been near 100 burly men swarming the dock, armed with chains to hook onto steel buckets, manning the ship’s crane, shouting commands as they transferred coal from freight locomotive to ship. I was stunned, and must have remained at my window for an hour, maybe more, enthralled by the volume of men, by the efficiency with which they worked, and the speed with which the Nightingale received its cargo. I saw only glimpses of Jack, flashes of his red headscarf (he had removed the hat and jacket for the occasion). He moved among the men, pointing this way and that, tugging on chains and peering into buckets, and slapping men on the back in encouragement and appreciation. The men looked remarkably cheerful to be performing such a grueling job, and I understood then how much the men respected him and how far Jack had gotten as a result of earning that respect. Faced with this realization, it was impossible for me to deny that I too felt a strong respect for Captain Sparrow and that I would gladly push a wheelbarrow of coal for 12 hours straight just to earn that slap on the back.

In fact I had just convinced myself that that is exactly what I would do, when there was a knock on my door and I heard Harbor Master Swann’s voice. “Norrington! Norrington, are you in there?”

“I am here, Harbor Master.”

“Norrington, there’s a bit of urgent business that I must attend to. Would you be so kind as to take over my duties for the day?”

“Of course, sir.”

Normally a request to take over the Harbor Master’s duties would thrill me. Now, however, the thought of sitting cooped up in an office all day, filing docking papers and completing correspondence, was a blow to the newfound spirit of hard work and camaraderie that I had gained in the past 12 hours. Nevertheless, I made my way down to the office and began my day’s work. The day passed slowly. I confess I often found myself pausing, a sheaf of papers in hand, to listen to the sounds of clanking and shouting on the dock. Toward the end of the day I took another look out the window and nearly fell over in shock when I saw Harbor Master Swann pushing a barrow full of coal down the dock toward the Nightingale. So this was his urgent business! Helping Jack Sparrow! I shook my head and returned reluctantly to the desk, a small smile of reluctant understanding on my face.

That evening, I devised some reason to make my way down the dock to where the Nightingale was berthed. The dock was silent now, with nary a trace of the day’s activities. The Nightingale sat lower in the water, but that was the only clue that her cargo was fully loaded and she was ready to put to sea. The captain was sprawled lazily on the rail of the port-bow. He caught me staring at his silhouette and called down to me. “Ey there, Harbor Master Norrington!”

“Harbor Master’s assistant,” humility forced me to reply.

“Well, ey there, harbor master’s assistant Norrington, then.”

“What can I do for you?”

“’ve got a small problem, mate. See, my first mate’s wandered off. Got lost somewhere between the tavern and a brothel, I’d wager. I’d go looking for him, but to be honest, I thought I might try for a bit more capable first mate, savvy?”

“That sounds like a fine idea.”

“I know it’s a fine idea, I’m not askin’ your opinion on the matter. What I mean is, what say you to bein’ that very fine and capable first mate? You need a break from Scotland, lad, or so your complexion tells me. You wouldn’t believe the flowers they have in Bermuda – worth sailing across the world for, I say.”

I had never been one for flowers, truthfully, preferring the smells of the sea and the sights of the harbor, but I was suddenly possessed with the desire to see every flower in Bermuda. There was one problem.

“And what makes you think I’d make a capable first mate? I work in the harbor, not on a ship.”

“I can tell just by looking at ya. Long legs, strong muscles, a sturdy back – you’ll keep your balance and not be afraid of the sea at her worst, I can tell.”

It was a simple appraisal of my abilities, as any captain might consider a potential crewman, but coming from Jack’s lips it seemed like an approval that I had been waiting for all my life. I was incapable of saying no, and in fact, from that moment forward, I don’t believe I ever said no to Jack.

* * *

The day of departure dawned crisp and clear. I arrived early, having had little to pack or prepare. Jack met me at the top of the gangplank as the crew began preparations to leave the dock.

“Morning, Norrington,” he greeted me. “You have your boarding papers, I presume?”

For a moment, I felt a wave of panic. I hadn’t filled out the papers regarding taking on new crewmembers before leaving port. Then Jack gave me a grin, gold and silver winking in the sun. “That’s all behind you now, eh, First Mate Norrington. There’ll be no more papers for you now, just the sea and coal and Bermuda.”

I must have continued to look concerned, because Jack leaned in close and placed a hand on my chest. “The flowers, mate. Forget the papers. Think of the flowers.”

Jack showed me my quarters and gave me a brief tour of the ship, then it was time to depart. “Look mate, I’ve got to attend to some captainly duties, as it were. I’m sure you can find something to do, say your farewells to Scotland or somesuch.”

I found myself a spot leaning up against the starboard bow, and I waved goodbye to the Harbor Master as we pulled out of port, imagining that I saw a glint of jealousy in his eye. I stayed there as the Nightingale made her way down the River Clyde and out into the sea. Jack found me in the same place a few hours later, utterly relaxed and content, the wind blowing in my loosely tied hair. He leaned back against the rail, watching me silently. I turned to look at him and he held my gaze for a moment before I turned away, my thoughts flashing back to Jack’s drunken proposition two nights previous. He clapped his hands, snapping me out of it. “Well, Norrington, let’s put you to work!”

“Please, call me James. Norrington sounds far too formal outside of the harbor.”

“Very well then James, and you may call me Captain Jack Sparrow.”

I rolled my eyes and followed after him to begin my duties as First Mate.

* * *

Over the next few days, Jack kept me busy, and I kept him pleasantly surprised with my aptitude, as I quickly learned what needed to be done aboard the Nightingale. There were a few suspicious glances from the small crew at first, but there was plenty of rum on board and the men couldn’t hold much against Jack or their luck in landing a place on the Nightingale. Regardless, I worked hard, drank black coffee with the crew in the morning and rum with them at night, took my share of the watch, and collapsed, exhausted, into my bunk each night. I was too busy to think too much about Jack, and too busy to think about the fact that when I did think about Jack my face would feel hot and my stomach would clench as though I were looking down from a great height.

I was no fool. That is to say, perhaps I had been a bit of one up until recently, but I had a different worldview now, and I knew what I wanted. I was no longer content to remain in port. I wanted excitement and I wanted adventure, and I wanted Jack.

One evening, just over a week into our journey, I had an eerie sense of déjà vu as Jack and I were the last to leave the galley after a night of much drinking, card playing, storytelling, and general revelry. I tried on nights like these not to make my thoughts too obvious – I tried to keep my eyes off of Jack, tried to engage in conversation and convivial shoulder punching with a variety of inebriated crewmen. And I had no idea how Jack felt at the time - I was too busy avoiding his eyes to notice if he had been trying to catch mine. On this night, I had refilled my glass a few too many times, and Jack had won a few too many times at cards, so most of the crew had gone back to their bunks already when we realized that we should probably do the same. The ship seemed to tilt around me as I stood up from the table. “Captain, I think there’s a storm. A really big one.”

Jack stood up and held up a hand as if testing the wind. “No, James, there is no storm. There is possibly a slight breeze.”

“But,” I slurred, “the ship is tilting.”

“The breeze that blows a young man’s heart is swiftly something something,” Jack recited, still holding his hand in the air. He took two steps toward the door and tripped, sprawling on his stomach. “Ah. I see what you mean about the storm.”

I moved toward him cautiously, keeping one hand on the wall. “Jack?”

“Captain,” he corrected.

“Captain?”

“Yes?”

I offered him my hand, and he pulled himself up smoothly, overbalanced, and crashed into me, pinning me against the wall.

“My dear James Mr. Harbor Master First Mate Norrington,” he mumbled into my chest. “Thank you so very much for your kind assistiss…assissant…assissississ…for helping me up.” He looked up at me, and my mind flashed back to a similarly intoxicated evening, to a scene that I had replayed over and over my head, each time wishing that I had responded differently when Jack had asked if I would join him. I wanted it to turn out differently. I wanted him to ask me again.

He didn’t ask me.

He slid his hands up my chest and around the back of my head, pulling me into a hot, rough kiss. It took me a moment, but then I was kissing him back, our tongues grappling as I leaned into him for more. I slid my arms around him, holding him close. I told Jack that I wanted him, that I had wanted this for so long, but the words were lost between our demanding lips. Finally, we broke the kiss, panting, but neither of us loosened his grip. Jack thrust his pelvis into mine and I gasped aloud at the friction. “James,” he breathed, nuzzling my neck and planting a trail of kisses up to my ear. “James.” His tongue traced the curve of my ear. I could only close my eyes and stifle a moan in response. “James,” he whispered, more urgently this time. “My quarters.”

I was holding him so tightly, my arms protested as I loosened my grip. I followed Jack as we stumbled toward his cabin, drunk more now on lust than on liquor. Jack stopped suddenly in front of the door, and turned to face me, holding up a bejeweled hand. There was a spark in his eye as he leaned forward, placing his hand on my chest. “Will you be joining me then?” he asked, his voice a low rumble. In response, I reached around him and pushed the door open, pushing him in with my other hand. He yanked his shirt off as I closed the door, then reached out and pulled me towards the bed, dragging me on top of him in a tangle of limbs. I captured his lips in a forceful kiss, which he eagerly returned. I felt his hand brush my straining trousers, heard him growl as he pressed his palm against me. He fumbled at the fastenings as I rutted against him, managing to get my pants undone despite my impatient movements. I got control over myself and sat up, straddling Jack as I pulled at my shirt, buttons popping as I yanked it over my head. Jack ran his fingers down my chest and a tremor of lust shook my body. His hand moved slowly over my stomach and finally wrapped around my exposed cock. The feel of his rough hand and smooth rings against my flesh was something that I had imagined, but the sensation as he squeezed and slid down my length was beyond imagination. I leaned forward until I was crouching over him on all fours, thrusting into his hand. His kohl-darkened eyes caught mine and I bit my lip to keep from crying out his name. He stroked me hard and fast and growled, “Call me Jack,” and I lost it, moaning in pleasure as I climaxed on Jack’s stomach and chest.

I was too drained to be self-conscious and my arms gave way under me as I collapsed onto the mattress beside Jack, catching my breath. Jack was also breathing heavily, his eyes closed, one hand sliding down his slick chest toward his still-fastened trousers. I took his hand before he could touch himself and reached down to unbutton them. He raised his hips as I reached for him, brushing the tip of his cock with my thumb. Jack moaned, wanting more, and suddenly I realized that I wanted to give him something more. I moved down the bed and looked up at him from between his legs. I would have taken my time, but I felt his fingers threading in my hair and pulling lightly, restraining himself from pushing me down. I didn’t wait, taking him into my mouth, caressing him with my tongue. Jack groaned, thrusting himself deeper as I sucked, lightly at first, then harder. I could feel his cock twitching, could hear his ragged breaths, and as I gave a final swipe with my tongue, I felt Jack’s hot release in my mouth and throat, swallowing lustily, taking it all in.

Jack practically dragged me up by the hair to kiss me hard, twisting our tongues together, tasting himself. Slowly our kisses became more languid and gentle, our breathing quieter, and our bodies melted together in an exhausted embrace. As I closed my eyes, I could feel the humming of liquor in my veins, and the beating of Jack’s heart against my chest.

* * *

Morning light streaming in to the cabin fell across my face, rousing me from sleep. I opened my eyes, but didn’t move. My body felt limp, the tension that I had been holding for the past two weeks – and, if I were to be truthful, long before that – was gone, replaced by a liquid happiness flowing through my veins. I hadn’t yet considered any emotional repercussions that might follow our night’s activities, so I wasn’t surprised, merely curious, to see that Jack was still next to me and was in fact leaning on one elbow and looking down at me, a soft thoughtful look on his face.

“It’s another day, mate. Work to do, aye?”

I nodded and sat up, running a hand through my tangled hair. We looked at each other, each trying to read the other’s thoughts. I don’t know what Jack saw in mine, but whatever it was, he must have been satisfied, because he leaned forward and kissed me softly, before climbing out of bed and beginning to dress. I did the same, and together we headed up on deck into the heat of the late morning sun.

Our duties took us to different parts of the ship, and we barely saw each other for the rest of the day. Jack took the evening watch, and I tossed and turned in my cabin before falling into an uneasy sleep. The next day passed similarly. I had just taken a seat in the galley for dinner, and was idly wondering if Jack might show up, when I heard a huge explosion coming from below. My fork clattered to the ground as I jumped out of my seat and ran toward the stairwell, plunging into a cloud of smoke, seeking out the men that I knew were down there. Two men pushed past me to escape the smoke, gasping for air. From the top of the stairs one called back down to me, “Garrett is still in there! He’s been badly burned!”

I made my way blindly through the smoke, feeling in front of me for a sign of the man. Suddenly my boot hit something, and I was unable to keep my balance, falling hard and slamming my shoulder into red hot metal. Pain shot up my arm and shoulder, but I pushed myself up and felt around my feet, managing to grab hold of Garrett’s shirt in the process. I dragged his unconscious body back toward the stairs. Crewmen passed me, going back down with buckets of water to put out any remaining fires. I pulled Garrett into the galley and lay him on a bench. He had burns on his chest and arms and he wasn’t breathing. I placed my mouth on his, breathing for him. On the sixth breath, Garrett choked, coughed, and inhaled deeply, wheezing. I fell back in relief, wincing at the fresh pain in my arm. I saw Jack standing in the doorway, looking at me so intensely that I had to turn my face away. Rogers, the cook and, when necessary, ship’s doctor, was leaning over Garrett, concern written on his face.

“I’ll need to tend to him immediately.” Someone had handed him a bucket of water and some rags. He handed one time me. “Norrington, how is the pain? It may be a while until I get to you.”

Jack spoke first. “I’ll take him to my cabin.”

“Captain, I’m fine,” I said, clutching the wet cloth to my shoulder. We had had only one night together. I wasn’t sure about either of our intentions.

“You are not!” he barked, and it was true that I was nearly fainting from the pain. He slid a strong arm around my waist and I sagged against him. It may have been my imagination, but I thought I felt him kiss me lightly on the temple before we even left the galley.

He had both arms supporting me by the time we reached his cabin, and kissed my forehead as he lay me down on his bed. He brushed my hair back behind my ear, and though I was fading in and out of consciousness, I remember admiring that such tenderness and such strength could reside in the same hands. Jack carefully removed my shirt, wiped my brow, and then began to tend to my burned shoulder. Seeing that I was fading, Jack gripped my jaw and gave my head a little shake. “Stay with me, James.” For further assurance that I would remain awake, he breathed soft breaths on my neck and chest, planted a small bite on my collarbone, and flicked his tongue at each of my nipples in turn. Needless to say, I was awake, as was my cock. I bit my lip and shifted my hips. “Stay still, Jamie,” Jack whispered. He pulled some ointment from a small decorated box, and dipped his fingers into it. “This will hurt, love, but I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” He spread the ointment on my burn and, just as he had claimed, it hurt like hell. I squeezed my eyes shut against the pain, until Jack had covered my entire burn and until I felt his soft kisses on my stomach and his hand undoing my trousers.

“They say the best cure is a nice distraction. Or maybe I’m one who said that. Nevertheless…” I opened my eyes in time to see him licking me from base to tip. I moaned aloud and fisted my hands in the sheets.

He distracted me well, taunting me with kisses on the insides of my thighs, along with soft breaths and the light scrape of his teeth. At one point, he stopped completely, looking up at me as he sucked on of his fingers into his mouth, a teasing glint in his eye. Finally, he took me into his mouth and sucked hard, at the same time sliding his spit-lubed finger into my tight entrance. I bucked and writhed and slammed my cock into the back of Jack’s throat, but he had asked for it, and took it like a gentleman, swallowing every drop as I lost myself into his eager mouth.

The pain in my arm completely forgotten, I reached down and dragged Jack up to meet my lips. “Jack,” I gasped through our kisses. “I’m not sure if you noticed, but… I really like what you did there.”

He chuckled. “Aye mate, I had a feeling you’d take to it.”

“I mean,” I continued, “if you want to…do it again…I mean, if you’d like to-“ Jack silenced me with a finger on my lips.

“As much as I would enjoy obligin’ ya, mate, I’m afraid you’re in no state for such debauchery.”

“Jack…please.”

He closed his eyes, fighting desire. “I don’t want ta hurt you, Jamie.”

“Jack, you won’t. I want you.”

“I want you, too,” he said. I could feel him, rock hard, pressing against me.

Summoning his last remnants of control, he reached across me into the decorated box, dipping his fingers in a small jar of salve. He stroked himself once, twice, and then entered me slowly, holding himself back. I wrapped my legs around him, pushing him farther into me, as slowly as we both could bear. He was beautiful, his face flush, his eyes dark with lust, as he began to move faster. As he grasped my hips and thrust himself toward oblivion, I spoke through the pleasure and the pain.

“I shall always remember this,” I said, my voice a low growl, “as the day that I…caught….Captain Jack Sparrow.” My voice was his undoing, and as he spilled into me his moan of pleasure took me with him. We came down together, shaking, breathing in sync as we lay wrapped in each other’s arms.

When he found his voice again, Jack asked if my shoulder was hurting me.

“It doesn’t matter, Jack, so long as it’s what got me into your bed again,” I said, smiling.

“Have no doubt, James, ‘twas me that got you into this bed again, and you would’ve been here tonight with or without a flesh wound, savvy?” He tangled our fingers together, and I placed a gentle kiss on his knuckles.

“Savvy.”

* * *

The next ten days are clearer in my memory than any other days of my life. Jack and I spent our nights exploring each other’s bodies, each trying to bring more pleasure to the other. We spent our mornings wrapped in each other’s arms until the last possible moment that we had to report for duty. Our evenings were spent in the company of the crew, drinking and playing cards as usual, but waiting, always waiting, until we could be alone, until I could push him up against the door of his cabin and kiss him with everything I had, or until he could pull me onto the bed and make me squirm with pleasure and desire. But it is the days that I remember best, the moments that we would find together in the afternoons, when we would sneak away and lay on Jack’s bed, kissing and touching, yes, but mostly talking. My heart still seizes when fragments of those quiet conversations float through my mind.

“There are so many things I want to ask you, Jack.”

“And there are so many things I want to tell you, Jamie,” he said, running a fingertip slowly from my forehead to my jaw.

I thought for a moment, and asked a question that had been weighing on my mind for some time. “Jack, when you came into port two weeks ago…why did you offer to pay double the docking fee, if you already had the paperwork completed?”

He stuck out his lower lip and pretended to think. “Maybe I wanted to see just how corrupt your precious little port was. Maybe I wanted to see how much you needed the gold, mate. Maybe I wanted to see just how far that stick was shoved up your tight little-“

“Jack!” I exclaimed, lunging for him to find the ticklish spot on his ribs.

“Alright, ask me another, then,” he said, squirming out of my reach.

“Alright.” I picked up the bottle by the side of the bed, and lifted it to take a swig. “Jack?”

“Yes?”

“Why is the rum gone?”

* * *

“I have a confession for ya, Jamie. I thought you’d make a horrible first mate.” I lowered my eyebrows in confusion. He continued, “I thought you’d stand around on deck smirking and refusing to get your hands dirty.”

“Then why did you…”

“Oh, I just thought it’d be entertainin’ to have somethin’ nice to look at during the voyage. Might have had a vague plan to seduce you.”

I let out a soft laugh. “Got more than you bargained for, then?” I asked.

He stroked my cheek with his ringed fingers. “More than I could have hoped.”

* * *

“Have you enjoyed being aboard the Nightingale, Jamie?”

“Of course I have.” I lay on my back, my hands beneath my head. Jack rested his head on my chest, as if listening to my heart.

“You like being a collierman, then?”

“I like being with you,” I answered honestly.

Jack sat up on his elbow, his tangled hair falling over his shoulder, and looked down at me seriously.

“Would you like being with me anywhere, then?”

I returned his gaze. “Anywhere, and everywhere, Jack,” I answered, and it was the truest thing that I had ever said.

“D’you know what they say about Bermuda, mate?” Jack asked softly.

“About the flowers?”

“About life. Anyone can be happy there, they say. Every house has a view of the sea.” His breath caught, and my heart beat faster. “Our house could have a view of the sea.”

I have never been happier than I was at that moment. I was too happy even to smile, so I leaned up to kiss him, the only response I could give. Jack understood my answer.

* * *

On the morning of our 21st day at sea, I awoke alone in Jack’s bed. I pulled on my trousers and ascended to the deck, where I found Jack leaning against the forward rail, gazing out on the fiery dawn. I stood behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist and placing a soft kiss on his cheek.

“I thought it was the First Mate’s duty to keep the bed warm,” Jack teased.

“Red sky in morning, Jack?” I asked seriously.

“Do you smell that, Jamie?”

I inhaled deeply, but smelled only seawater and coal and Jack. “What is it?”

“Flowers, Jamie. Bermuda.”

I couldn’t keep the smile off my face. No longer simply a port of call, Bermuda had a new meaning to us now, and the smell of those flowers was our future.

“We should get in late tonight, if I can coax a bit more speed out of her.” That was my cue.

“Of course you can…Captain.” How I loved to see that flattered grin. “You’ll have us into port well before any weather comes our way, I’m sure.” I held him for another moment, whispered to him that I would see him later, and headed back to begin preparations for the journey’s end.

I am thankful, so thankful, now, for whatever it was that made me feel that day an urgency to see Jack, to be with him, to convince him to forget his duties for a moment and join me in the cabin in the late afternoon. We took our time, kissing languidly in the heat of Jack’s quarters. Jack sucked at my neck and chest, scraped his teeth lightly over my nipples, and sat up to straddle me. I pushed myself up on my elbows, giving Jack my most seductive look. As he leaned forward to kiss me, I wrapped a leg around him and flipped him smoothly onto his back.

“Why, James!” he said, a challenging twinkle in his eyes. I pinned his wrists above his head and ground against him. “You wouldn’t taunt your captain, now would you Jamie?” he pleaded.

“I could do this all day, Jack,” I said with a wicked grin.

“Reach into my jacket pocket, Jamie.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Trying to trick me, Jack?” Nevertheless, keeping a firm hold of his wrists, I reached into the pocket of the jacket hanging nearby and pulled out a vial of oil that I found there. I gave him a questioning look.

“For you, Jamie,” he whispered.

“Are you sure?”

He nodded, his eyes dark, “I need to be close to you.”

I leaned down to kiss him deeply. When I pulled back he added, “And you can let go of my wrists now, love. I’m not going anywhere.”

I let go, sliding my hand over down one strong, sun-browned arm. I stroked his cheek, and he turned to kiss my palm. True to his word, he didn’t go anywhere, just ran his hands over my bare skin, as if he wanted to touch every inch of me.

The wind had picked up outside and it felt as though I were taking shelter as I entered Jack. The rocking of the ship dictated my rhythm as I moved inside of him. The sudden sound of raindrops against the window competed with our cries of pleasure, and the rain was the only sound we heard as we caught our breath and held each other drowsily.

By the time we came back up on deck, the storm had picked up. Jack had to yell to be heard. “I’d better get up to the pilothouse, mate. I don’t trust anyone else with my ship in a gale like this.”

At that moment, we heard a cry from the lookout – “Breakers, dead ahead!”

Panic crossed Jack’s face and he ran for the pilothouse, grabbing the wheel from the hands of the frightened crewman. I watched him as he gripped the wheel and pulled hard to port, skillfully maneuvering the ship. But just as he brought her ‘round, we heard a rending crash from below and the Nightingale shuddered. Men rushed onto the deck as water poured in from the breach below. I tripped and slid along the rain-soaked deck, losing sight of Jack at the wheel.

An unearthly groan sounded from the heart of the Nightingale and the men fought to keep a hold as she tilted hard to port. She was on her beam ends, her deck almost perpendicular to the surface of the roiling sea, when the main mast snapped and fell, hitting the shallow rocks with a sickening crack. I caught sight of Jack scrambling toward us, a dancing, swaying balancing act. Our eyes met, and for a moment it felt like we were alone, despite the shouts and scrambling of the crew around me. The lifeboats were in splinters and the men were in a panic, crying out to Jack.

“Captain, are we all to drown?”  
“The boats be smashed.”  
“How are we all to be saved?”  
“The boats are stove in through and through!”

Jack grabbed a wildly snapping rope and pulled himself up onto a deck winch. He raised his voice over the gale.

“My brave colliermen! Can you not see? Here lies before you the captain’s gig, still whole and sound. She will carry you all!”

Jack’s words brought order to the chaos, and we worked together to untie the small, sturdy boat from the deck, fit her with what supplies we could grab, and begin to slide her into the water, as beneath our feet the Nightingale continued to pitch and shake. But as the crew assembled and the gig was prepared for sea, I came to a sickening realization. I made my way across the steeply tilted deck toward Jack, reaching for him. “Jack! There are but 18 places to be manned. But there are 19 souls aboard!”

He had known. My heart dropped. “Jack, no.”

“Don’t delay, James. Please, don’t spare a thought for me. It is my duty to save them all if I can.”

I had given duty up for Jack – but I couldn’t ask him to do the same for me. “Jack, let me stay with you.”

“I’ll be fine, love. I’m Captain Jack Sparrow.”

He steered me toward the gig, which by now was afloat as the men boarded her. I reached out to shove her off, intending to stay on the Nightingale with Jack against his wishes. But he must have seen my intentions, for at the last moment he grabbed me by the shoulders and threw me roughly into the boat, pushing us away from the collier and the perilous shoals. “Return quickly for me, James.”

We were a few meters away when he called out to me again. “James!” I looked up to see him pull a ring from one of his fingers and toss it out to me. I caught it neatly just as the men heaved on the oars and I lost my balance, falling into the bottom of the boat. By the time I slipped the ring safely into my jacket pocket and looked up again, Jack had turned away, searching in vain for the storm’s end.

I put every ounce of my strength into the oars, and screamed for the men to do the same, and it seemed only moments before we had skirted the shoals and the Nightingale was a blur on the horizon. As we pulled for Bermuda, I tried not to let myself think of Jack, for when I did I felt as though I could not move, could not breathe, my heart and lungs squeezed in a vice. I knew that would do us no good, so I did as Jack had asked and pushed him from my thoughts, concentrating on getting us to shore so that I could turn around and come back for him.

I felt no relief when the boat hit the sandy shore of the island. The rain was letting up and the vibrant colors of the isle were beginning to show beneath the gray sky. Half of the men quickly volunteered to return with me to the Nightingale, while the rest staggered up the beach, collapsing in exhaustion or pain. My arms and back burned from my efforts at the oar and my eyes stung from rain and splashing seawater, but I had no desire to rest. We pulled away from the shore again just moments after we had landed and made our way back toward Jack.

  
By the time we returned to the shoals, little could be seen of the Nightingale. Debris littered the surface as we pulled our way toward what remained of the collier’s stern, the only part of the ship that lay above water.

"Jack!" I called at the top of my voice. The winds had died down, which had made our journey back easier, but left an eerie silence where there had just hours earlier been a cacophony of gale winds and the shrieking and cracking of a dying ship. "Jack! Jack!" The only answer was the sound of the waves beating crashing on the shoals and the thump of the oars against the side of our boat. I stood at the bow as the men paddled, scanning the surface of the sea and the wreckage, looking for some sign of our captain. The men took us 'round the end of the Nightingale, careful not to get too close to the still-shifting wreckage.

“Can you get closer?” I pleaded. “Please, we must find him.”

The men said nothing, but brought us in closer despite the danger. I stared ahead of me, I scanned the sea to either side, and finally, fighting every fiber of my soul, I looked down.  
Jack floated ten feet below the surface, his body tangled in the mizzen chain. His eyes were open and he was smiling bravely, defiantly, as if he had faced the sea without fear. I choked, caught between a sob and a scream. In an instant I was over the bow, diving into the water and pulling myself down, down towards Jack, no matter how deep I had to go, heedless of the cost. I was closing in on him, reaching for his hand, when the sea pulsed, a heartbeat that squeezed the water around me for a moment, then let go. My eyes were open, but the sea was gone, and I was in a fog, looking desperately around me for some sign of the familiar. Another pulse and the fog was gone, and I was in the sea again, grasping the mizzen chain, and Jack was nowhere to be seen. I thrashed in the water, looking frantically around me for his body, fighting for breath, and then I was being pulled out of the water by rough hands. I fell onto the bottom of the boat in agony, my lungs and my heart both screaming as I coughed up seawater and fog.

I don’t remember getting back to shore. I don’t remember screaming Jack’s name or cursing the sea or the Nightingale or Bermuda. God help me, I don’t remember grabbing Garrett by the throat and telling him that I shouldn’t have saved him, that if I hadn’t pulled him out of that fire, Jack would still be alive. I don’t remember anything until I woke up on a clean bed in a light-filled room. My wrists and ankles were bound, and Rogers was leaning over me looking concerned. “I’m sorry, Norrington. We had to restrain you. You almost killed Garrett.”

“I’m sorry,” I gasped, my throat raw.

He untied me and handed me a glass of water from the table before heading for the door. “The men have gone their own ways. Your room is paid for through tonight. I’m sorry, James.”

I nodded mutely, and then he was gone, and I was alone.

  
Days passed in a haze. I convinced the innkeeper to let me stay on credit. During the day I walked the shore, letting the water lap at my ankles as I stared out to sea. Every night I let an empty bottle of rum fall from my hand to the floor. A breeze blew the scent of flowers through my open window.

  
I sat in the inn’s tavern, seeking solace in the bottom of a pint. A strange-looking woman approached my small table and sat, though I offered neither a chair nor an acknowledgement of her presence. She leaned forward and took my hand, pried it off the handle of my mug, and I let her, offering no resistance. As she ran her fingers along my palm I felt warmth returning to my body, a spark of life that I hadn’t felt in days. I looked into her dark eyes.

“Are dere not flowers in Bermuda,” she asked, a strange and ancient accent coloring her lilting voice.

“There are,” I whispered, my voice cracking.

“And does not beauty lie ‘pon ev’ry hand?”

“Yes.” I couldn’t argue, both because I lacked the strength, and because it was the truth –Bermuda’s beauty was all-encompassing, it was everywhere you looked, I could not escape it.

“And dere be laughter” – as if to prove her point, a group of sailors laughed uproariously elsewhere in the tavern – “and ease, and drink fo’ ev’ry man.” In answer, I took a swig of ale. Setting down my glass, I leaned toward the woman, compelled for some reason to respond.

“But there is no joy for me.”

She continued to run her fingers along my palm, a sadness in her eyes, and then she stopped abruptly, squeezing my hand.

“Why do you not wear de ring?”

“I’m sorry?”

“De ring be in your jacket pocket. Why do you not wear it ‘pon ya finger?”

I touched the pocket of my jacket. Jack’s ring. I had forgotten. I pulled out and slowly slid it onto my finger.

“How did you know?” I asked, astonished.

“De ring call to me, as it call to Captain Jack Sparrow.”

The sound of his name sent a shockwave down my spine, and I trembled.

“Jack is dead,” I whispered.

“De waters of Bermuda be a strange place. Ships disappear, and reappear without dey sailors. Dere be mysteries untold. Did you see Jack?”

“I saw him….but then…” I couldn’t put into words what I had seen.

“Jack be in de Triangle. Him be waitin’ in de fog. Him want to make sure dat dere is sum’ting to come back to.”

“Of course there is,” I said, my voice shaking.

“You must tell him.”

I pushed my chair back abruptly and strode for the door. At the door I turned back to thank the mysterious woman, but she was nowhere to be seen. No matter. I walked quickly along the street, almost running, until I was able to make for the shore. I crested a low hill and found myself looking down on a carpet of colorful flowers, spilling down the slope until they met the sand. The sight took my breath away and I paused for a moment before I made my way toward the beach. At the bottom of the hill, I dropped to my knees amongst the flowers. I clenched my hand around a stem, feeling the comforting presence of Jack’s ring as I made my plea.

“I am here, Jack. I’m waiting for you.”

  
The End


End file.
